


the king of infinite space

by glittersnipe



Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Drug Addiction, F/M, it's not a teddy bear's picnic, the hdm/succession crossover no one literally no one asked for, the usual succession warnings apply
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-10 03:41:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21462022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glittersnipe/pseuds/glittersnipe
Summary: His heart was — the coke must have been cut with fucking, like, Rob Ford’s belly button lint or some shit. His heart felt violent. He was in the bathroom of some generic shitty New York bar, poured concrete floors and ceilings and exposed Edison bulbs and the acoustics all over the fucking place so you couldn’t heat a fucking thing. He was 23, he killing it, star fucking intern, he was into transformational organisational change way before it was, like, a thing. His dick was verified huge. He did a keybump in the bathroom and felt good about things. He and Maeve came out of the bathroom and walked back to Roman, whose adder daemon Livy’s head extruded from his sleeve, and immediately keeled over into his Grey Goose and soda.[the HDM/Succession crossover that nobody asked for lmao.]
Relationships: Kendall Roy/Rava Roy
Comments: 11
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

“A pelican,” Logan said. The voice before the killing strike. Beside him, Scathach stopped preening to settle balefully on his desk, too big for his shoulder, her scythed claws hooking into well-worn grooves in the mahogany.

Kendall was fourteen — neither too early nor too late. It should have been perfect. He had rolled over that morning, Maeve curled into the cavity of his body, and opened his eyes to a shock of soft brown feathers. It was a Sunday morning in November and it was still very early and black and raw outside. Kendall had always liked the early morning. It felt like something just for him: the dark slate clean before the day’s mistakes. He pulled back from her and stared.

“Is this it?” he said, unsure of how he was supposed to feel about it. 

“I think so,” Maeve said, in an equally unsure voice.

“What are you?”

“A pelican.”

“Pelicans are white,” Kendall said suspiciously. It could all be a trick. 

“Not all of them, dipshit,” Maeve said. “You’re not a fucking pelican expert.”

“That’s fucking stupid. That’s not even a thing. Why are you a, a a — a fucking pelican?” He spat the  _ f _ out like he was choking on it, sitting up in bed, pulling his feet underneath him. 

“Dad will be mad if you start stuttering —” she said. 

“Dad will be mad that you’re a, a — a —” the words fought him, clogging in his throat, like he was trying to throw them up but choking, “A — a—-” He wheezed and began to take deep breaths like the therapist had told him, staring at Maeve, daring her. Outside the sky was still black. They were alone.

“Just keep breathing,” she said, relenting. She flapped, ungainly, until she was sitting in the shell of his lap, between his heels. Her bill was very long and very sharp and the end was blood red. Kendall put his hands on her neck and focused on breathing like his speech therapist had taught him to. He didn’t want to admit it but the feathers felt right in a way nothing else had. Not even the wolf form he’d cajoled her into keeping for much longer than she’d wanted to, because wolves were fucking sick and everone was scared of them. 

We’re paying how much so you can learn to fucking talk? Logan had said. I hope it’s worth it. 

Now that he was older it happened less and less. But it still happened, sometimes, and the breathing exercises were humiliatingly similar to the ones the nanny had taught them for Shiv when she would have one of her hyperventilating fits. 

Finally he tried again, each word a careful jewel: “Dad — will be — really angry.” He trailed his fingers down her neck and into her feathers and dug them in, enough pressure to feel but not enough to hurt. Sometimes they fought each other, viciously.

“I know,” she said. “It’s not my fault.” She lay her bill along his shoulder. It was neither warm nor cold against his neck. Her wings were enormous, at least. If she was going to be a weird, like, bucket-mouth bird then at least she was a big one. He didn’t think he’d have been able to cope if she’d been a puffin or some shit. Or even a fucking fish.

“I know,” he said. He looked out his window, over her head, to where the morning light had begun poisoning the sky yellow. Whatever he’d felt coming into consciousness with the soft down of Maeve’s head tucked beneath his chin was gone, flattened into nothing by an enormous and escapeless gravity which distorted everything around it relentlessly and which he was subject to, like the earth itself. Now that he had time to think he could feel. The disappointment felt corrosive to his chest. He felt Maeve’s heart against his and he knew she felt that same searing humiliation.

“I really wanted you to be a wolf,” Kendall said. 

“I know,” she said.

In Logan’s study he started shifting on his feet and then remembered not to. He pushed his chin up, stuck his shoulders out. He remembered to breathe. Logan studied him. Kendall tried not to show how scared he was. Beside him, standing on the floor, Maeve looked cartoonish, ungainly. He tried not to show how ashamed he was because that would only make it worse. He had no option but to act like he was proud.

“A pelican,” Logan repeated.

“Y-yeah,” Kendall said, and then winced, and tried to hide his wince. He knew he was unsuccessful but it was like the fat treacherous vowels that weighed in his mouth, that the struggle made worse. There was no choice but to pretend none of it was happening. Beside him Maeve unfolded and refolded her wings. It was a precise movement, the kinetic arc of her wing unfolding and stilling. He caught the admiration of beauty and put it away, out of sight, where it belonged. He knew apologising would make it worse but he didn’t know what love would do.

“Well,” Logan said, and gestured towards Scathach. “I suppose we’re birds of a feather, you and I.” He smiled, which only made Kendall more nervous. “That was a joke, son,” he said. “Lighten up.”

“Oh, yeah,” Kendall said, and laughed on cue. Logan was still smiling but Scathach’s claws furrowed into the divots she’d carved in the wood. She leaned over to him and said something Kendall couldn’t hear. She was bigger than Maeve, with a cold stone wall of a face.

“Celebrations,” Logan said. “We’ll have a nice dinner this evening — somewhere really nice. Now that my boy’s settled. Come here, son.”

Kendall began to approach. He was standing farther back than he should have been, he realised — holding himself in preemptive retreat. Maeve began flapping behind him when Logan shook his head and Scathach’s claws dragged splinters. “For God’s sake,” Logan said. “Don’t —” he looked over Kendall’s shoulder to where Maeve had frozen in place. “You’re not a fucking worm,” he said. He looked back at Kendall. “Don’t make yourself smaller. You’re a man now. Time to act like it.”

She stood next to him on the floor, drawn up to her full height, and with a sudden beating of wings ascended to the arm he held out. Logan smiled again. Scathach stared. Kendall could tell he still wasn’t acting the way he was supposed to be acting but he didn’t know what he was supposed to do. He had been too ashamed to call any of his friends. He would have accepted an eagle like Scathach if he couldn’t have a wolf. 

“It’s like a funeral in here! Come on — don’t look so down in the damned mouth, nobody died. This is great. I was beginning to think you were a bit old.” 

“I’m really happy, dad,” Kendall said cautiously.

“Then let’s get you acting like it,” Logan said. He clicked something on his desktop computer — the one Kendall wasn’t allowed to touch — and the screen inside the boxy beige monitor went black. Logan normally wasn’t at home during Sundays, especially when Caroline was around, but Caroline had gone back home for a “brief spell”, which meant it could have been literally any conceivable length of time. Logan’s study was immense and intensely masculine, with dark leather midcentury couches, an Eames chair, a great gleaming bar between his desk and the windows and the shining city below. He went to the bar and poured amber whiskey into the bellies of two intricately-carved crystal lowball glasses and handed a glass to Kendall. 

“Drink up,” Logan said. Both he and Scathach watched. Kendall didn’t know what to expect from drinking, except from films like Pulp Fiction which he had just seen and thought was in fact the coolest fucking thing he’d ever seen. He had never drunk before -- he had too many extracurriculars and he needed to do well if he was going to get into Harvard. He smelled it and looked down at Maeve to make sure she was bracing herself and tossed the glass back. It was more than a mouthful and it burned as he swallowed but he fought it down. He stood breathing for a second suppressing his gag and looked up at Logan but he knew more was expected of him so he smiled again. His eyes watered. He felt a sudden acid heat bloom inside him.

“Easy,” Logan said.

For a brief and horrible second Kendall thought he would be sick but he held it until it passed and swallowed the thin watery spit building in his mouth. As the whiskey relaxed inside him he felt his body loosen and he began to smile without even planning it. It occurred to him that maybe everything would be okay.

“That’s my boy,” Logan said. “Did you know, there are all sorts of stories about pelicans. Myths, you know.”

“I didn’t know. Do you like them? Are they good stories?” Kendall said. It occurred to him as he spoke that it hadn’t even occurred to him to strategise against a potential stuttering attack. His head was a balloon floating away from the earth, too far away from the ground to have to anticipate anything at all. When he looked back at the bar his vision took a moment to catch up with him. He wanted more whiskey.

“It’s famous for sacrificing itself,” Logan said. “Killing itself to feed its children Bam, through the heart, with that long beak.” He gestured at Maeve, whose small black eyes were glazed and unfocused. “The chicks drank the blood and it kept them alive, you see. Christian story -- charity.”

Kendall tried to focus. The interiority of the booze, its secret shelter, was thrilling. It seemed incredible that he could stand in front of someone and feel this way, inside, and that they would have no idea. He knew Logan was trying to tell him something but it occurred to him that he didn’t have to be scared of the if he didn’t want to be. He had never thought that way before. Beside him, Maeve swayed on her webbed feet.

“Listen to me. Kendall,” Logan said. He put a hand on Kendall’s shoulder, close to his neck. His thumb was warm and rough. “Christian charity is for fucking morons. Do you understand that?”

“Y-yeah — yes, dad,” Kendall said. It was true. He was appalled at what he saw on the street when he ventured out of his borough. It was dirty and they were stupid, criminals, junkies, hardly better than animals. The government, Logan said, was no better — was just charity for these creatures, except now government goons were getting a cut of the cheque too, already hefty enough thanks to Clinton. “Charity is for fucking morons.”

“Good boy,” Logan said. “Don’t forget. Now, will you do me a favour? Will you call your mother and tell her that I’m not going to compromise on the house. She’s asking for far more alimony than she deserves, with all the fucking money I poured into her  _ causes _ over the years.”

Normally Kendall hated this job, even though he liked being given the responsibility. He was old enough, important. But the messages between them -- when Logan and Caroline started using him first, he would edit the venom, but each parent shook him down until he repeated it all, reciting  _ you’ll never get the Benz, you fucking prick _ and  _ you’ve always been a vindictive bitch  _ tonelessly. Seeing how meaningless the words were. Maeve standing next to him staring at the ground. Sometimes Logan would tell him to buck up and sometimes he’d tell him to fuck off and he did as he was told either way, though he was arguably better off at fucking off than bucking up.

_ It’s your voice, _ Maeve had told him.  _ You sound weird. Like a robot or something.  _

_ How else am I supposed to sound _ Kendall had said. His voice had broken excruciatingly slowly over the previous few months and combined with the occasional attacks of stuttering his speech was subject to intense sensitivity, having already caused several shouting matches and on one memorable occasion a broken window throughout his childhood.

_ Uh, I don’t know, like a duhhhhhhhh a human maybe  _ Maeve had said, rolling her eyes. She was a puma that day, which Kendall worried was kind of gay because she was a cat, but she was a cool cat, so that was okay. She was scary which was good.

“Hi, Mom,” he said into the receiver. He tucked the handset under the chin and walked down the hallway into the kitchen, trailing the cord behind him. It was hard to walk in a straight line.

“Sweetheart,” she said, her voice faintly blurry from the static. “How  _ are _ you, darling.”

“I’m, uh, I’m good. I’m great,” he said. He hiccoughed and it tasted like whiskey. “H-hey mom,” he said. “I’m, I have something to, uh to, uh—”

“Come on, sweetie,” she said. “I thought you were over this silliness.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “This is the first time in ages. I have — anyway, I have news. I have really cool news, actually — well I think it’s cool—”

“Kendall,” she said, cutting him off. “Are you -- have you been  _ drinking _ ?”

“Maeve settled,” he blurted out.

“Oh,” she said, after a pause. “Oh, I see. Did your father give you something to drink?”

“Yes,” he said. He was still twinkling inside from the whiskey’s warmth. Beside him, Maeve had begun to doze off.

“I see. Your father is completely fucking irresponsibe as always, I see. Kendall, go to bed. You sound very drunk. I’ll call your father’s study and speak with him.” Uncaring, insulated completely from all things not immediately within his warm whiskey sphere — Kendall returned the phone to its cradle. He went to bed and lay down until the room started spinning and he had to go puke. When he woke up he had his first hangover. His head hurt and he felt fearful, ashamed. He was alone and no one had come to get him and it was night again. He rolled over and pressed his face into Maeve’s soft brown feathers and in the privacy of his bed, for just a moment, he felt proud of her great size, her beauty, the blood-red curve of beak. It was okay. 

The week after they had a celebration dinner that Caroline didn’t attend. Kendall sat to the right of his father with Maeve perched behind him. He insisted on having a kids’ table so that Roman and Siv couldn’t be annoying and interrupt. There was wine on the table and, reminded of the whiskey, he poured himself a glass experimentally. He felt adult, even his mother’s absence a sign of his new independence. Maeve had settled. The dice were cast. He repeated it to himself and felt very grown up: felt suddenly the great potential of the world he, and only he, had been born to inherit. The wine was sweet and dry and it was a strange taste, the sting of the alcohol, but he liked it. After a glass he felt it starting to work like the whiskey had, his head wrapped in a great warmth as though Maeve had spread her wings around him. He made what he considered highly entertaining conversation, marvelling internally at how much more easily the conversation came, the great liquid highs of his wit. His glass slipped from his fingers suddenly and clattered against his plate and suddenly broke against the table -- cleanly, jagged. He clicked his fingers and a waiter came over and he gestured at the glass and told him to hurry up and bring him a new one. “And refill it too,” he said, when the waiter glanced at Logan, “you’re not asking  _ him _ , you’re asking  _ me _ . I’m the one in charge.” 

He was leaning back in his chair when suddenly there was a movement from his side and his neck snapped back as Logan hit him open-handed across the face, a great walloping slap, and Maeve made a strange guttering sound as Scathach’s claws dug into her breast. She loomed down over them both, her talons hooked into Maeve. Stunned, struggling for breath, Kendall reeled. The room had fallen silent. There was a rivulet of blood coming from the puncture wound in Maeve’s breast. Kendall felt it like a knuckle pressed into his sternum. He stared at Logan and his eyes, rather embarrassingly, began to fill with tears.

“You’re behaving like a pig,” Logan said. “You’re embarrassing me.”

Kendall wanted to say something back — anything, something cool like an action hero — but he was too scared so instead he sat quietly and ate the rest of the dinner with Maeve bleeding in a small trickling rivulet down her front. There wasn’t a lot of blood but it never seemed to quite stop leaking. His chest ached terribly and his face was hot and throbbed. The waiter brought him another glass of wine and Kendalll thought bitterly how that shithead was probably going to jerk off to this memory later. He risked drinking it in slow sips and soon he felt dreamier again and the ache receded a little. The waiter topped him off when Logan was speaking to guests at the other end of the table and he grabbed the dregs of another guest’s glass after they left so that, at the end of the night, Kendall found that he was quite able to smile and say goodbye. It wasn’t hard at all.

“Good night, son,” Logan said when they had bid the final stragglers goodbye. He moved abruptly a step away, then turned his body facing away from Kendall, as a ship orients itself. He didn’t touch Kendall. He stood for a moment silently and then he walked away. Kendall stood alone in the dark and found he hardly cared at all.


	2. Chapter 2

His first overdose happened when Roman was visiting, which was deeply embarrassing. Roman was at military school, where he was earning firmly mediocre marks and multiple demerits along the way. Kendall was midway through his MBA and doing an internship with JP Morgan. No one believed that he’d earned it. Kendall himself though that he’d earned it — he read a lot of business books, he was fucking crushing it — but how could you tell?

His heart had been just — it must have been cut with fucking, like, Rob Ford’s belly button lint or some shit. His heart felt violent. He was in the bathroom of some generic shitty New York bar, poured concrete floors and ceilings and exposed Edison bulbs and the acoustics all over the fucking place so you couldn’t heat a fucking thing. He was 23, he killing it, star fucking intern, he was into transformational organisational change way before it was, like, a thing. His dick was verified huge. In the bathroom, he did a keybump and felt good about things -- not only good about things, fucking  _ great _ about things. He went out. Roman watched him balefully with Livy’s flat adder’s head extruding from his sleeve.

“You, uh, having fun there buddy?” Roman said without asking. Kendall was by then too high to understand basic conversational nuance or sarcasm so he nodded enthusiastically instead and Roman rolled his eyes and rearranged himself on the calfskin sofa dramatically, propping his feet up on the Noguchi. Beside him, Maeve was folding and refolding her wings, over and over. Roman’s eyes were narrowed and he searched Kendall’s face.

“How’s school? Do you like it?”

“Yeah, I get pounded in the ass by my drill instructor on a daily basis. It’s sweet as hell. I’m really learning fact-based and evidence-backed strategies for long-term success in the real world, as promised.” Roman was venomous. There were fading marks on his face, around his eye. He had a red-and-gold scarf draped along his shoulders and he was going through a sloppy Holden Caulfield-inflected phase -- his hair hung in his eyes, his shirts tailored looser, hanging out. He had, it turned out, spent a solid chunk of the previous year  _ not _ at school -- had instead managed to manufacture a semi-ridiculous situation in which the administrators of the school had been informed that Roman would be continuing his education in Geneva, for reasons of wanting to install some European  _ nous _ upon Roman’s  _ soi-disant  _ American worldview. He’d been believed, which had surprised Kendall intensely, as well as planting some doubt on the quality of the quote unquote education his brother had received. Part of him had been impressed; Roman had always been sly, but he hadn’t thought Roman was actually smart enough for that kind of manoeuvre. Roman had gone on the lam, doing God knows what in some squat in the Bronx or some shit. 

He’d been busted when an associate of Logan’s had seen him on the street -- either he’d been banking on New York’s protective anonymous sprawl, or he’d fucked the landing the way he’d always done. Perhaps anonymity was too much to ask. 

“So,” Kendall said. He drummed his hands on the table, then forced himself to stop; immediately his foot began to jog. Maeve was looking curiously for Livy, her head twitching. “How you, uh, hey, how’s Europe? Are the girls hot?”

Roman’s face contorted like he’d smelled a giant, wet fart, and he stared at Kendall with a comically contorted face. He looked like a bug-eyed muppet. It was extremely fucking disconcerting. Kendall had still been drunk when he’d woken up and the Sunday morning Triple B -- Bros, Bumps and Bloodys -- had kept the momentum going. He’d hit up his plug after leaving the boys, stayed for a few beers, and then -- well, it had been a bit of a blur up until then, but that was what the coke was for. Speaking of which: “Okay, fine” Kendall said chirpily, “Be right back.”

Roman’s intense disgust did not change. He muttered something into his shirt collar and rolled his eyes. It gave Kendall the creeps, how hidden Livy was. It didn’t feel right. Weird he thought. In the bathroom he did a bump off his hand, no fucking around with keys or any of that shit. When he walked back out, he realised it was still daylight and that he had no idea what time it was. Back at the table with Roman, he drained his vodka soda and ordered another one. Roman ordered a second beer.

The last time he’d seen him was before Switzerland. Kendall had stopped by the apartment, on an unexpected invitation for Sunday lunch with the family, which had immediately sent his  _ what the fuck-o-meter _ tingling. He texted Shiv for intel but Shiv didn’t reply to texts, or at least not his, and then she’d bailed anyway. He was in the study drinking a glass of wine and waiting for Logan. Maeve had long unlearned her habit of shifting on her feet, but was still refolding her wings about herself when Roman was dragged in. His hair was almost to his shoulders and he was thin and pale. Logan closed the door behind him. Kendall drank the rest of the wine in one go and set his glass down.

“Roman --” he said, but Logan cut him off with a wave. Roman was trying his best to look brave. He was standing with his shoulders back, chin up chest out the way Kendall used to do before it became unnatural. Livy was hiding somewhere in his clothes. A notable few months as a hyena notwithstanding, she had always preferred to be small: sparrows, moths, insects. Now that she’d settled as a snake, Kendall rarely saw her at all. It gave Roman the eerie, uncanny impression of having no daemon at all. It was unsettling. Kendall had wanted to tell him to stop -- to be more normal -- but he’d learned by then that he’d only make Roman spitefully determined to do the opposite. Scathach stood in front of the door. 

It was not knowing and also knowing that made it as bad as it was. Logan’s temper was a vast empire he had to live in. He wanted something, anything -- more wine, or the right thing to say. Fast as a car crash Logan struck. 

“Ah,  _ fuck _ ,” Roman yelped, and Scathach made a screeching noise and Logan hit him again, just as fast hard. 

“ _ Dad _ ,” Kendall said. He was unable to stop himself. He was panicking.

“Wasting  _ my money _ and  _ my time _ ,” Logan snarled, “ _ humiliating _ me. You are a stupid, selfish little boy.”

Roman’s nose was bleeding.  _ What’s his play _ , whispered Maeve. Scathach was making a croaking noise, a metallic grating humming screech, over and over, in her throat -- it filled the room, it kept coming. Blood dripped down Roman’s face.  _ Drip drip drip _ onto the carpet _ .  _ Logan did not pace which was worse. 

“I, uh, I think we should all take a quick five,” Kendall said. Roman’s breath was harsh and he had staggered away from Logan. 

“Fuck off,” Logan said. “Kendall. Come over here.”

Maeve dug her claws through his vest. Logan reached out and took Roman by the shoulder and moved him -- almost gently -- back into place. 

“You’ve always been a good son,” Logan said to Kendall, who produced an appropriate smile. “Maybe you can try straightening him out. I have better things to do with my time.”

“Uh,” said Kendall. He decision-tree’d through possible plays -- it was some kind of test, it always was, but what was he -- “Uh, okay, yeah.”

“So show me you’re in charge,” Logan said. Roman cowered when indicated. 

“Oh,” he said. Maeve dug her claws into his shoulder.

“He needs to learn to respect authority.”

“I -- Dad, you know, I uh, I actually trained a lot this semester, and I--”

“Bullshit,” Logan said. “Playtime.” His eyes were on Kendall, pinning him, skewered like a collector’s item, a prized possession. “You’re not going to let your old man down too?”

There was no loophole. It was him or Roman. Easier to do it now and have it done with. At least one of them could make Dad proud. Kendall walked over, Maeve landing on the floor, and without ceremony he hit Roman across the face. He aimed for the side their father hadn’t hit and tried to make it just hard enough to be realistic. Roman let out a sort of choking gasp and his hands flew to cradle his face. He didn’t move this time. Scathach would not stop making that  _ noise _ . Kendall’s knuckle was smeared with Roman’s blood. “Good boy,” Logan said, but Kendall thought he heard disappointment. He looked over at Roman, who was staring at him with a kind of queasy muted fury. The same outraged dignity of a child that’s fallen on the playground --  _ how could this be happening to me? _

But it was his own fault, Kendall thought, humiliated by Logan’s indifference. And besides: why  _ couldn’t  _ Roman just be normal? He, Kendall, had never caused this kind of trouble; he’d gotten nearly straight As, done community service. It wasn’t that hard to just be normal: Roman was just feckless and spoiled. 

“What the fuck,” Roman finally said. Like a soldier giving the finger stepping out of the trench. He always had to have the last word. But he had to learn life didn’t work that way -- that it was right for people like Kendall who did the work to get to have the last word. In a way, Logan was rewarding him.

“I’m sorry,” Kendall said. “I mean, I’m sorry that you can’t do a single fucking thing right in your life. I’m sorry that you think this is all some sort of joke. I’m sorry that you’re a glib little shit who can’t take anything seriously. I’m sorry that you don’t respect Dad or all the work he’s done for us--”

Roman, who had been steadily moving from fear to furious disbelief, yelped “oh  _ come on _ ,” and made a jerk-off motion and Kendall snapped  _ fuck you _ and shoved him. He was acutely aware that he was being evaluated. 

“Say you’re fucking sorry,” Kendall said. “On your knees. Beg.”

“ _ What _ ?”

“You heard me, Roman,” he said. “I don’t think that’s too much to ask. I think it’s, uh, well, it’s very generous, actually. Considering everything you put the family through.” _Stop fucking fighting me_, he wanted to say. _You’re making this worse for yourself._ _You’re making this worse for me._

Roman’s eyes flickered between him and Logan. “Don’t fucking look at Dad,” Kendall snapped, he turned to face Logan. Maeve had moved to stand next to Scathach, and one of Scathach’s great claws encircled her leg like a great iron cuff. She dug in. His right leg began to throb. The air kept tightening. Maeve unfolded her wings, a great arc of feathers, flapping but careful not to touch or dislodge Scathach, who was still making that relentless grating noise.

“Dad,” Roman said, and Kendall shoved him again, grabbing him by the shirt. Peeking out of his pocket, Livy watched him with inscrutable black liquid eyes. “I fucking told you,” Kendall said. “Do it.” There was spit coming from his mouth, flecks of it landing on Roman’s face. He didn’t care. “I told you to apologise. Do as you’re told. For  _ once _ . Or I promise you it will get worse. Way fucking worse.”

Roman looked back at Logan. His face was red and his eyes were big, wet, round -- like a cow, some glazed-eyed animal. Kendall felt a sort of gratified disgust for him. The great joy of being powerful to pity someone else. The throbbing in his leg loosened a little. Logan nodded once and Kendall thought _Roman, just_ _do it, you smug fuck_. Roman stared at the ground and got down on his knees, slowly. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. His voice was small, pathetic. 

“Say it to me,” Kendall said. Roman looked up. His face was a collapsed building. 

“I’m sorry, Kendall,” he said, thickly. “I’m sorry, dad.”

“Beg,” Kendall said.

“ _ What _ ?”

“Beg dad. For forgiveness.”

“You --”

“I fucking  _ told you _ ,” Kendall said. “What part of this is too, uh, is so fucking complex?”

Kendall wanted to look over but knew he shouldn’t. He felt seized up all over. Scathach’s weight on his shoulders, pressure pinning him. 

“Please forgive me,” Roman said, finally. 

_ He has to learn _ , Kendall thought, and asked, “For what?”

Roman looked up at him, that same shocked spoiled venomous look and Kendall felt his face twist.  _ Oh no, it’s only the consequences of your own actions. _

“For being a glib little shit,” Roman parroted back at him, like the glib little shit he was, and Kendall wanted to punt him like a fucking football. Why was he the only one who had to take things seriously?

“And a weird, uh, a weird freak with a room-temperature IQ,” Kendall spat. 

“And a weird _uh_ _uh uh_ a weird freak who can’t ta -- oh, sorry, a room-temperature IQ.”

“ _ Take this seriously _ ,” Kendall hissed and felt a hand settle heavily on his shoulder. “All right,” Logan said. “Roman, get up and fuck off. You’re embarrassing yourself. Maybe Geneva  _ would _ be a good change of pace. Get out of my sight.”

After Roman had left the study Logan had poured whiskey -- just one glass. Kendall’s hands were shaking. Scathach had moved to join Logan at the bar, and Maeve limped slightly as she waddled ungracefully to him. 

“If you want to be respected, you’ll need to work harder than that,” Logan said to Kendall, and drained his glass. “You can leave now, too.”

A week later, Roman was shipped off to Europe. Kendall hadn’t seen him since. It had been six months. When he came back on summer break, Roman’s mandatory itinerary had included a compulsory visit with each sibling. They were photographed together, smiling, Kendall’s arm draped over his shoulder in a gesture of fraternal ease (Roman hissing  _ I’ll cut your fucking arm off _ ). 

Now, in the bar, he drained his drink and realised that Roman was 100% not going to forgive him, which, like, fuck him.  _ Fuck him _ , he thought, buoyed up by the coke. Roman had not said a word since he’d gotten back to the bathroom. His contract had stipulated three hours of sibling time with Kendall. 

“Excuse me,” Kendall said after what he thought was another realistic stretch. Roman had been talking to Livy and muttered “oh, for fuck’s sake,” but didn’t otherwise indicate that he noticed Kendall. As if this was, like, unexpected behaviour for a fucking bar in New York, Kendall thought. He noticed that he was swaying as he walked but was too pissed off. Who did Roman even think he was fooling after his little stunt? Judging him? In the bathroom he discovered that most of his gram was gone, which meant he’d have to go pick up again which was a bummer but the shit was good this time. He did a bump, and then there was barely any left, barely worth hanging on to, so he finished off the vial and then licked out the inside. 

He came out of the bathroom and back to Roman where he immediately keeled over into his Grey Goose and soda. Maeve made a weird keening noise beside him as his heart squeezed inside his chest. Roman’s eyes were big and scared and round and he could suddenly only think about how terrified Roman was, had been, mixed with his own fear as his heart flapped like a fish in a net. “Fuck,” he tried to say to Roman, “I’m so sorry. This is, like, two major traumas.” but it wouldn’t come. Funny how that kept happening: choking on words to the end. Roman was shouting something that Kendall didn’t hear. His chest felt like he was on fire. Maeve was shrieking.  _ Fuck _ he thought, one last coherence:  _ this will probably be in the press _ and then he passed out.


End file.
